C. B. Justifies His Position
It was Captain Taber’s intention to proceed in leisurely fashion
towards what we know as the “off-shore” grounds, by which term is meant
an immense oblong tract of sea off the west coast of South America,
extending for about a thousand miles to the westward and from about
50° south nearly to the Equator. This has always been a favourite
habitat of the sperm whale, and although not quite so prolific as the
Japan grounds or the vicinity of New Zealand, it has sometimes yielded
splendid results. But it will be easily understood that in so vast an
area, wherein the vision from the crow’s-nest of a single ship, or
say a circle 90 miles in circumference, is but a speck and that only
available by day, it is quite possible for a cruising ship to be many
weeks on the ground and never see a solitary spout of a payable whale.
And this too although the numbers of these creatures then frequenting a
favourite haunt may be incalculable.
Few people, even sailors, can realize in any adequate measure the
immensity of the ocean, the vastness of the great lone spaces of the
deep. The best method I know to bring this home to one’s mind is to
come up channel, one of the very busiest of all ocean thoroughfares, on
a gloriously fine day and count the number of vessels seen. Of course
I assume that the course is in mid-channel, and thus out of the range
of the fishing-boats. The result is amazing. I have only just returned
from a cruise in the Channel with the Home Fleet, when we were never
more than twenty miles off shore, and I do not recall any one time
that we had beside our own ships more than three vessels in sight. If
then this be the case in the quite narrow waters of the greatest ocean
highway in the world, what must it be where the ocean spreads from
one quarter of the world to another? And no people realize this more
fully than whalers, who know what it is to cruise for months in the
unfrequented latitudes where their quarry is most likely to be found,
and who, after a month or so’s unsuccessful search are haunted by the
idea that just beyond the sea-rim, just over the edge of their little
circle, there may be, most likely are, whales in abundance, but in what
direction can they steer so as to come up with them?
But to return to C. B. Little by little he became accustomed to the
fetid odours of his quarters, could bear to sleep down there even with
his berth-mates’ pipes all going. But he felt a wide gap in his soul
at the utter absence of one topic from all conversation which during
the whole of his life had been ever uppermost as the most vital and
interesting of all. His soul hungered for some one to talk to about
God; he was horrified almost to faintness at the incessant blasphemy
he heard around him continually; and, although he would not have owned
it to anybody he grieved bitterly in secret that ever he had desired
to leave his home and friends. And a great fear also possessed him
occasionally. It was that he should grow quite indifferent to the
realities of life in the shape of the things of God. Already he fancied
he detected within himself a tolerance of the shameful language current
about him, if only he could hear the stories it conveyed of things
hitherto beyond any apprehension of his.
In fact, there was going on in the lonely man’s soul a conflict
such as few of us ashore are called upon to face, a struggle with
all the powers of darkness which has to be waged by every newly
converted sailor when he goes to sea again, and finds no fellowship
nor friendliness among his shipmates because he is suspected of
being a Holy Joe. Few things try my patience more than to listen to
hair-splitting doctrinal arguments, whether they be on so-called New
Theology, or the cut of ecclesiastical vestments, while my mind reverts
to the lonely soul in the ship’s fo’c’sle, who has just given his heart
to the Lord, and has been compelled by the exigencies of his calling to
go back to the foul life and conversation which never irked him before,
but now is torture.
The proverb that a man is known by the company he keeps has no meaning
at sea because your company is not of your own choosing. Detest it
as you may you cannot get away from it, and although you may loathe
every word you hear spoken, being human your gregarious instincts will
assert themselves and fight fiercely against your desire to keep your
mind and heart clean by trying to drive you into the society of those
whose delight it is to outrage every feeling they think you possess of
decency or righteousness. In such a situation as nowhere else in the
world can a man rest upon the promise, “Lo, I am with you alway, even
unto the end of the age.” And happy will he be if the squabbling of
the schoolmen as to the authenticity of the dear words has never come
within his mental purview.
I think, however, that C. B.’s plight was rather worse than that of the
newly converted sailor. For the latter has been long familiar with the
language, has long known the utter absence of all recognition of God
as having anything to do with men’s lives, and so, though a return to
such environment is utterly distasteful to him, it is not strange, does
not come with so much of a shock. But poor C. B., from his earliest
infancy, had been steeped in the atmosphere of prayer, of the constant
invariable immanence of God and in the belief of His immediate and
benevolent interference in the affairs of His children down here. He
had not been brought up religiously, for the word is suspect; in fact,
as most of us know to our cost, a religious man and an unutterable
scoundrel are often synonymous terms. But he had been bred in the
belief in the Father’s love and the unseen fellowship with Jesus
Christ His Son, Himself manifest in the flesh, and that not because,
hateful devilish thought, there was anything to be made out of it, any
well-deserved punishment to escape from, but because it was entirely
good and pleasant to love the all-Father whose plans and purposes
towards them were only love and that continually.
One thing, however, came to his aid early in the struggle. It was
the remembrance of a conversation he had had with his parents once
upon the possibility of the islanders’ goodness being of a negative
character. That is to say, they had never been tempted to do wrong,
all their lives had been hemmed in on every side by right-doing and
right-thinking and perhaps, he had only hinted at it, if they had been
subjected to the same trials and tests as the people in the great
world, they would fall, and fall lamentably. He had not claimed for
himself any special strength or virtue, whatever his innermost thoughts
may have been, but he had really felt at the time that his love for God
was so strong and fervent that he would be glad to test it even in the
fiercest fires of persecution.
Of course he did not in the least anticipate what the reality would
be, no one ever does. He had strung himself up to meet outrage, in
a physical sense to be treated in openly severe ways, not by covert
sarcasm, persistent blasphemy and ignoring of the very right of God
to interfere in the affairs of man. Now he was face to face with the
reality he felt dismayed, but he went to the unfailing resource of the
Christian, he claimed his dearly purchased right of direct intercourse
with the Fountain of love and wisdom and was at once stayed upon the
sure sense of being a child well beloved by the Father.
He strove manfully also to acquaint himself with all those details
of ship work which he now found to be quite intricate and difficult.
Fortunately his fine physique and utter immunity from sea-sickness
stood him in good stead and he learned rapidly, so that at the end
of a fortnight he began to feel capable of holding his own with his
shipmates. And in consequence of the continually flung hints that he
would be found out when it came to the actual business of whaling he
prayed fervently for a chance to show that in this at any rate he
had nothing to learn here. But as day after day slipped by and no
whales appeared he had to listen to a fresh set of innuendoes from his
berth-mates, who now said that their ill-luck was due to his presence
on board.
So when he took his spell at the mainmast head in the crow’s-nest, be
sure that his glance never missed any object, however small, that came
within the limits of human sight. At last when about halfway across the
Pacific it happened to be his first two hours in the main crow’s-nest,
from 6 to 8 a.m. The young Kanaka who was with him was sleepy and
lethargic, taking little heed of the necessity for keeping a good look
out in spite of the substantial bounty offered of twenty dollars for
the first sight of an afterwards captured whale making over forty
barrels of oil. C. B. was watchful as usual, for so far as he had yet
lived he had never allowed himself to scamp or neglect any duty. This
was hardly a virtue, it was bred in him.
And consequently at this time, in the full glory of the early dawn,
while his heart uplifted itself in praise to the Creator of the
beautiful world, all his other senses were concentrated in sight; his
vision ranged ceaselessly over every square foot of the huge circle
of sea of which he was the centre. Then suddenly, from far away on
the Western horizon, there arose from the clear, placid bosom of the
deep a tiny puff as of smoke from a pipe. The watcher stiffened into
rigid attention. Ha, there it is again! another and another, and then
a creamy curdling of the blue water as if its swell had suddenly
met an obstruction. It was enough. Uplifting his mellow voice C. B.
sent through the quiet air the whaler’s musical long-drawn cry of
“Blo-o-o-o-o-w,” the liquid vowels persisting for nearly a minute. As
soon as it ceased there arose from the deck the strong voice of the
skipper, who had rushed on deck from deep sleep at the first beginning
of the cry--
“Where away? keep crying.”
“Bloooooow, Bloooooow,” came the response, and then with a bursting
change: “There--ere--she--white waters--and Blows, Blows, Blow. Broad
on the starboard beam, sir, about ten miles off--seven or eight whales,
sperm whales, Blo-o-o-o-w.”
There was but a very light breeze on the port quarter, the ship making
about two knots an hour, and the skipper, grabbing his binoculars and
mounting the main rigging, shouted:--
“Port braces, bring her head up WNW. Mr. Spurrell, lively now,” the
words exploding as he toiled upward and seated himself on the upper
topsail yard. Meanwhile the other masthead-men had caught sight of
the whales and were all adding their voices to the musical minor wail
that was going up. On deck the watch below were beginning to swarm up;
cleansing gear of brooms, buckets, sand, etc., was being put hurriedly
away, and boats’ gripes cast off, while in each boat the harponeer
might be seen critically examining the state of his weapons.
Presently the old man’s voice rang out peremptorily--
“Down from aloft! See all clear for lowering, call all hands.
Christmas, you’d better git an’ see that all’s right in your boat.”
As his orders rang out the recipients of them responded severally, and
swiftly the various duties were performed, but with an utter absence
of bustle, for all hands were well trained. C. B. grabbed a backstay
as he slid out of the crow’s-nest hoop and came to the deck like a
flash, plunging at once full of eagerness in the direction of his
boat. But here he found that the fourth mate had been before him and
left nothing for him to do. I have not hitherto spoken of this curious
individual, who is indeed worthy of special notice, because he is quite
a supernumary in time of peace and indeed in time of war has to give
place to the Captain should the latter wish to take the field himself.
He was a Guamese, from the Ladrone Islands, the offspring of a Spanish
father and a Chinese mother, but with practically only the facial
characteristics of the Mongol. He was taciturn to a degree, never
uttering an unnecessary word, although he spoke English fluently as
well as Spanish and the Lingua Franca of the islands with which a man
may get along from Honolulu to Haapai. And he answered to the name of
Merritt, Mr. Merritt.
Seeing him in the boat, C. B. said pleasantly--
“Is there anything I can do, sir?”
“Get the lines in,” growled the officer, but not uncivilly--it was his
natural mode of expression. And C. B., ready on the instant, turned
to the boat’s crew who stood near and gave the necessary orders. The
two tubs of line were flung into their places and all was ready. From
his lofty perch the skipper’s voice came occasionally in steering
directions as the whales, being on a passage, changed their bearings.
This state of suspense endured for nearly two hours, during which the
whales descended twice, their course, the time of their down-going
and up-coming and the number of their individual spoutings out being
carefully noted, all of which things are guides to the future movements
of the whale of the utmost value.
For when unmolested and on a passage from one spot to another the sperm
whale steers an exact course, as if directed by compass. So that when
he settles down he heads his course and when he rises again, often
fifty minutes later, he heads still the same way. Moreover the time
he remains below, still when unmolested and on a passage, does not
vary, it is as fixed as in the number of times he breathes on reaching
the surface. But this latter phenomenon does not alter, whether the
creature be unmolested or chased in full health or dying; when rising
to breathe he must obey some strange law compelling him to keep to his
particular number of spouts unless their quantity is cut short by death.
But it often happens that a school of sperm whales will spend an entire
day upon the surface of the sea, apparently basking in the sunshine
and doing nothing but enjoy the sensation of being peacefully alive.
In this case their spoutings can hardly be seen, so attenuated does the
vapour become as the creature’s air vessels get thoroughly charged with
pure air. On first rising to the surface, after a prolonged stay below,
the breath is so thick that a casual observer could easily mistake
it for water, as indeed has so frequently been done. I can never
understand why, though, because the expelled breath always hangs in the
air like a tiny fog wreath, which water of course could not do.
This digression, which is hardly unnecessary, I think, is merely to
while away the long wait while the ship creeps up to the spot where the
happily unconscious monsters are pursuing their placid way. At last the
voice of the skipper is heard again, saying--
“Lower away, Mr. Winsloe, you’re less than two miles off now. Pull
straight ahead for ten minutes and then set sail. They’re just up and
headin’ as near No’the as makes no odds.”
“Aye, aye, sir, lower it is,” came the ready response; and with a
musical whir of soft Manilla rope over patent sheaves the four boats
almost simultaneously took the water, the crews slid down the falls
after them and dropped into their places, shoved off, out oars and away.
It is a stirring sight, the departure of boats after a whale from
a ship. Every man seems so bent upon distinguishing himself. The
flexible ashen oars spring as the weight of the body is thrown upon
them, entering the water cleanly, noiselessly, gripping it firmly and
leaving it as gently as if there had been no force behind the stroke.
The feather is perfect--you cannot pull in a sea way without it, under
pain of a bad chest blow, and the thickly padded rowlocks give no
sound. Suddenly the mate’s boat, leading, gave the signal by shipping
the oars and setting sail and immediately all the crews followed the
example, and the big masts were stepped, the white sails shaken out
to the gentle breeze, and without a sound the graceful craft slipped
through the water towards the still unconscious objects of their
efforts.
Etiquette demands that the boats shall follow in order of official
precedence, but upon nearing the school that order is usually broken
up entirely by the movements of the whales and it is then a case for
individual smartness to assert itself. So now, just as the mate had
indicated by a wave of his hand that the boats must spread out fanwise,
a huge bull whale, the apparent monarch of the school, rose placidly a
couple of boat’s lengths ahead of C. B. He rose, gripping his iron and
jamming his left thigh in the “clumsy cleat” groove, cut out of the
little fore deck of the boat for that purpose. Hardly had he poised
the heavy weapon when the great back before him rounded upwards like a
bow--sure warning that the whale was about to seek the depths.
There was a swift movement of the sinewy arms and the iron flew to its
mark at the same moment as Mr. Merritt yelled--
“Now then, let him have it!”
Everybody in the boat saw the iron strike, sink in halfway and bend
over as the massive iron-wood pole, weighted additionally with the
line, sank downwards. But C. B. snatching his second harpoon sent it
whizzing after the first, striking the arrested monster’s side about
three feet away from the first wound.
Mr. Merritt swung the boat up into the wind, shouting as he did so--
“Down with the mast, lively now, hump yerselves,” and all hands sprang
to the task, while the stricken whale, in a paroxysm of mingled terror
and fury, lashed the quiet sea into boiling foam with his gigantic
struggles against this unseen, unknown enemy that had so sorely
wounded him. But none of his efforts, tremendous as they were, had any
intelligent direction; they were just a blind waste of energy, and so
the toiling men were able to get the sail rolled up and secured, the
mast unshipped and fleeted aft, where, with its heel tucked under the
after thwart, it was completely out of the workers’ way, leaving the
boat clear for action. Then, as coolly as if on a pleasure trip and
entirely unheeding the frantic wallowings of the leviathan so near,
Mr. Merritt and C. B. changed ends, the former’s place now being in
the bow, for the purpose of using the lance on the whale, while the
harponeer steered.
Before, however, Mr. Merritt had got the cap off his favourite lance’s
point there was a sudden cessation of the uproar, a huge whirling in
the sea and the vast body sank from sight, slowly, majestically, as if
the monster had suddenly regained the dignity befitting him in spite
of these new and terrifying circumstances. Now the line attached to
the harpoon led right aft, round a stout oak post built solidly in
the boat, the “loggerhead,” and thence into the tub where two hundred
fathoms of it was neatly coiled, a smaller tub on the other side of the
boat holding a hundred fathoms, but all in one length.
“Hold him up, hold him up,” growled the officer, as the line began to
glide out slowly, and C. B. responded by taking three turns round the
loggerhead with the line and holding on to it until the boat’s nose was
dragged down to within an inch or two of the water, while all hands,
except the officer, crowded aft as far as they could get, with the
object of putting a check upon the whale’s descent. This is always
done, but remembering the immense power of a whale in addition to his
enormous weight (a full-sized sperm whale weighs considerably over a
hundred tons), its brake power would almost seem commensurate with that
of a fly on a cart wheel.
Now they were at leisure to look round them to see how the other boats
had fared. But only one was visible, and that was coming towards them
at tremendous speed, obviously being towed by a whale, although he
could not be seen. On she came, heading straight for them, until, when
destruction seemed inevitable and the tomahawk for severing the line
gleamed in Mr. Merritt’s grip, the boat steerer of the rushing craft
made a mighty effort, bending his steer oar like a great bow, and she
flew past them only a few feet away. It was a breathless moment, but
such are frequent in this strenuous business, and except at the moment
are thought little of. Here, if anywhere, the proverb of a miss being
as good as a mile holds true--it generally means the difference between
life and death.
Slowly, certainly, fake after fake of the line left the tub until it
was exhausted, and now the smaller one began to empty in its turn. So
the signal was made “running short of line” by up-ending an oar, and
soon after urgency was shown by another oar being pointed upwards.
But no boat was near, and all hands began to peer anxiously at the
fast emptying tub, while one stood by with the drogue, a flat piece of
planking a foot square which is made fast to the end of the line when
it has to be slipped. It is supposed to act as a drag upon the whale,
equal to the resistance of four boats. And then, as suddenly the boat
righted herself with a jerk, while the men scrambled each to his
thwart, the whale ceased to descend, and Mr. Merritt shouted--
“Haul in lively now, haul quick!”
As fast as the fakes could be coiled in the sternsheets the line was
hauled in, for the whale rose as rapidly as he had gone down slowly,
until suddenly he broke water about a ship’s length away and with one
tremendous expiration of pent-up breath, sprang forward like a hound
loosed from the leash. C. B. had only just time to whip his turns
round the loggerhead again as the boat, with a jerk that nearly threw
all hands from their thwarts, sped after the rushing ocean monarch,
leaving a wide, glittering foam track behind her. Mr. Merritt leaned
over the bows, clutching his long lance and glaring vengefully at the
broad shining back of the whale ploughing through the waves fifty feet
away from him. With coarse gaspings he implored, taunted, threatened
his crew in the effort to get them to perform the impossible task of
bringing him nearer to the whale. The rope was tense as wire, and their
utmost endeavours could not get in an inch of it.
And now the wind and sea began to rise, causing clouds of flying spray
to break over the boat as she was dragged furiously in the wake of
the whale. Merritt’s rage was awful to witness. What he said does not
matter; it was almost unintelligible anyhow; but his yellow teeth were
bared, he champed like an angry boar, and foam flecked with crimson
flew from his mouth and hung on his straggling beard. C. B. stood like
a statue, alert, tense, ready to act on the instant if the whale should
turn.
And thus they sped for nearly twenty minutes, until as suddenly as he
had hitherto performed his other evolutions the whale stopped, turned
at bay, and with a splendid sweep of the steer oar C. B. avoided
running into his columnar head, bringing the boat head on to his
broadside. With one exultant savage yell Merritt hurled his lance, and
the whole four feet of slender steel sank into the black body as a
knife sinks into butter. “Haul and hold, haul and hold,” screamed the
furious man as he dragged the lance back, straightened it by a deft
blow or two on the gunnel, and now, being closely held against the
whale side, plunged it in again. But it struck a rib and bent almost
double. Flinging the warp or line by which it was attached to the bow
oarsman, he snatched another lance, uncapped it, and was about to
repeat his assault, when there came a warning shout from C. B. as the
agonized monster turned a somersault, his huge flukes snapping in the
air as he brandished them frantically.
“Stern, stern,” roared Merritt, and all the energy the crew possessed
went into those awkward strokes, while the turmoil made by the maddened
whale was deafening. Black, fetid blood flew from his spiracle mingled
with acrid foam, which stung like a nettle where it touched the skin,
and from the wounds made by the lance the blood spurted to a distance
of two or three feet. It was obvious now that one or both of those
lance thrusts had reached a vital organ, and the sea monarch was now
writhing in the last great struggle of death. He rolled rapidly from
side to side, beat the ensanguined sea into yellow foam with his mighty
tail, while masses of clotted gore burst from his spouthole with a
mournful bellow, like that of some vast bull, and then in a moment the
great body went limp, rolled upon its side, and lay still, save for the
gentle motion given it by the swell.
All hands drew a long breath, then at Merritt’s command hauled up to
the carcass and held the boat alongside, while with a boat spade he cut
a hole through the tail. Then cutting the line from the irons close up
to them, the end of it was passed through the hole and made fast, a
small flag was hoisted, and all was ready for the ship to run down and
secure the great prize.